


For better, for worse

by skriftlig



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-22 08:09:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skriftlig/pseuds/skriftlig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco didn't think it was possible to hate Harry Potter any more than he already did. But when Potter moves into the Manor and becomes Draco's step-father, Draco discovers it might just be possible to feel something else instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This piece of fiction contains rough and unusual sex scenes and a small amount of violence.

Draco remembered clearly the day his father told him.

He'd returned to the Manor from another brutal Ministry investigation, the black ink of the Mark on his arm stained with blood and his throat sore from the Veritaserum. Three months after the end of the war, the Ministry officials still insisted on interrogating the surviving Death Eaters that had avoided Azkaban.

It was obvious his father was pleased about something; the house-elf he sent to bring Draco to his study showed no signs of physical pain.

“Great news, Draco,” his father had said.

Draco had seriously doubted it; the last great news his father had given him was the Dark Lord commandeering the Manor and look how that had turned out. However, he played his required role.

“What is it, father?”

“We will have an addition to our family. I have found a new partner,” Lucius had allowed himself a small smile. “One that will benefit us incomparably.”

Draco had had to bite his cheek to stop from screaming.

“Before she died, your mother made a Protection Vow. She charged him with keeping us safe, but since she died without him fulfilling it, he is now bound to do so.”

Draco hadn't flinched at his father's 'him'; perhaps it was better this way, he'd told himself.

“I've spoken with him,” Lucius had continued on, “and he has agreed to the terms of a wizards' marriage. He will live with us here and the Ministry won't dare touch us.”

“Who is it,” Draco had heard himself whisper.

He'd already guessed of course, but something in him needed to hear it. Lucius smiled fully then.

“Harry Potter.”

\+ + +

It had been one month since Lucius Malfoy had been officially married to Harry Potter. There had been no celebration, no official announcement and only a few senior Ministry officials had been informed. While the wizarding world was happily in the dark about the situation, Draco was forcibly reminded of it every day.

He was no more pleased with the arrangement now than he had been a month ago. He voiced his opinion yet again to his father at breakfast.

“I don't see why we need him, father.”

“Don't see why we need him?” Lucius raged from the head of the table. “Draco, the Ministry want to throw us in Azkaban, or worse. The only thing that kept me from the Kiss was the boy's testimony. But now, with his joining the family, the Ministry will drop all charges.”

“But Potter-”

His father's eyes narrowed at him. Even seated as he was, in the middle of the long table, a good many feet from his father at the head of it, he felt the warning in his glare.

“I will not tell you again, Draco, that Harry is now my husband and your step-father. I expect you,” Lucius paused and leaned forward, “no, I demand that you treat him as such.”

Draco looked down to his plate, glaring at his cooked breakfast.

“You can start by calling him Harry,” his father added.

Draco swore inwardly at the unfairness of it all. How was it Potter could still make his life miserable after they'd left Hogwarts? Couldn't The Chosen One have chosen some other way of promising his mother to look after them, preferably one that didn't involve Draco seeing him five days each week.

He'd raged at his father for days after Potter arrived, but to no avail. And the numerous fights he'd started with Potter all ended the same way; with a bruised body and even more bruised ego after his father admonished him. A small part of Draco wondered if this wasn't all some way for his father to punish him for failing the Dark Lord? After all, had Draco killed Dumbledore, or recognised Potter when the snatchers brought him in, who knew how the war would've turned out.

They remained in silence until footsteps approached the breakfast room; noisy, undignified footsteps. Had Draco dragged his shoes along the polished floorboards like that, his father would have disowned him, he thought angrily. But Potter always had had a talent for getting special treatment from those who mattered.

“Harry,” Lucius greeted.

“Good morning, Lucius,” Potter replied, inclining his head politely.

He took his seat opposite Draco at the table. For years, Draco had looked into his mother's light blue eyes in front of him and now Potter's bright green ones were there; unapologetic and unrelenting. Draco itched to stretch out a leg and kick the bastard, but he made do with curling his toes inside his shoes. Potter looked like he usually did at breakfast, as if he'd just rolled out of bed. His hair stuck up and his faded t-shirt was slightly skewed around his chest. He helped himself to a nearby stack of toast and looked up.

“Good morning, Draco.”

“Morning, Potter.”

A mug slammed down from the end of the table.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Draco? You will address Harry by his given name now he is a part of this family.”

“Morning, Harry,” Draco ground out, hating the feel of it in his mouth.

He bent his head to his plate once more and attacked his bacon, ripping each rasher in to tiny pieces with his knife and fork.

His father engaged Potter is a conversation about dress robes that Draco gladly tuned out. There was a Ministry event being held in two weekends' time and it was a sign of Potter's influence on The Ministry that Lucius had been invited to assist in organising it. Draco knew his father wanted to show off Potter and Potter would probably love that just as much, with his constant need for attention. Draco would be expected to attend too, of course, and act like the obedient son, simply delighted at having his ex-school rival become his step-father.

“If you need the food cut up for you Draco, you need only inform one of the house-elves.” The amused voice of his father cut through his thoughts. “They used to perform that task when you were a baby, I'm sure they remember how.”

Draco refused to rise to the bait.

“No, thank you father. I've actually finished eating.” He stood and pushed his chair under the table. “Good day.”

“We'll see you at seven o'clock in the front drawing room,” Lucius called after him. At Draco's blank stare, he continued wearily, “Gladrags Wizardwear are sending some people over for dress robe fitting.”

“I already have dress robes, father,” Draco blurted out.

“Yes, but I thought we would get new ones. After all, the Ministry celebration will be a very special day for us all.”

Lucius looked greedily at Potter and the sight made Draco queasy. He confirmed he would be present for the fitting and left the breakfast room without a backwards glance.

He spent the rest of the day in the library, ordering a snack from the kitchens for lunch. Practically all his time was spent here these days, researching Protection Vows. Or more specifically, how to revoke them.

He'd created a small, but cosy area in a corner, hidden by bookshelves. He'd painstakingly transfigured all of the covers of the books he was interested in, so that, in the unlikely event his father ever found it, all he'd see would be fifty or so books on Quidditch tactics.

\+ + +

It was ten past seven when the house-elf found him.

“Master Draco is wanted in the drawing room, sir,” the elf squeaked.

“I'll be down in a minute,” snapped Draco.

The elf bobbed wretchedly. “Mister Malfoy is saying he will give Bobby orders to iron his ears for weeks if I is not bringing Master Draco with me.”

Draco glanced up to see the creature's large ears shaking. He groaned and nodded at it.

He knew his frustration was at least as much to do with his lack of progress with Protection Vows as the interruption, but he couldn't help be resentful. After weeks of going through huge tomes on Deathbed Lore, which he'd learnt was the branch of magic keeping Potter at The Manor, Draco hadn't come across a single mention of how to get rid of them. He carefully marked his place and returned the book to the shelf.

He thrust a hand toward the stupid house-elf, who grasped it gratefully and Apparated them to the drawing room.

The crack that announced his arrival went unacknowledged and Bobby scurried away with a bow. Draco took in the tableau in front of him: Lucius was sitting in his favourite, high-backed velvet chair by the fire, giving instructions to the room at large, while Potter stood on a small stool nearer the opposite wall.

There was a young woman taking Potter's measurements with a floating tape measure and two more buzzing around Lucius, offering sample materials for his approval. At his nod, they would make a big show of finding a robe from a seemingly bottomless cupboard in the chosen fabric, or at a sharp shake of the head, the material would be thrown to the side in a growing heap of cloth. An older witch stood to the side of the room with a roll of parchment and quill, and it was in her direction Lucius placed his orders.

“He'll need a winter cloak too, full thickness in the black I chose earlier, and a clasp in the usual style, and I want-”

“The usual style?” interrupted Potter.

“We have all our cloak fastenings designed in the shape of the Malfoy family crest,” Lucius told him.

Potter said nothing, just nodded. The tape measure closed by his knee with a final snap and flew back to the witch's waiting hand.

“Okay, I think we're ready to try a few styles,” she said. “If you could just slip out of your trousers and top, Mr. Pott- ah, Malfoy.”

Draco's annoyance at hearing Potter addressed as a Malfoy was quickly quelled by Potter's obvious panic at being told to undress in front of an audience. Draco smirked to himself as Potter stammered and blushed through an excuse to stay fully-clothed. Draco wondered what unsightly body part he wanted to hide. It would be in The Prophet by tomorrow morning.

However, Potter obviously decided that if he could defeat the Dark Lord, he could stand in his pants in front of 6 people, and he shook off his outer clothes. They were instantly folded into a pile in the corner of the room as the witch summoned a robe in one of the Lucius-approved materials.

Draco watched his father's eyes travel the length of Potter's half-naked body. Draco was pretty sure his father and Potter weren't actually shagging. Having separate bedrooms had been one of Potter's criteria for coming to The Manor and Draco assumed his father had felt the same way. Now though, and Draco felt slightly ill just thinking about it, his father seemed to be showing slightly more interest in Potter.

Potter was of course totally oblivious and stood obediently on his stool. His skin was darker than Draco's, though that wasn't exactly difficult to achieve, and Draco felt a twinge of annoyance at the sculpted muscles. When the witch directed him to raise his arms over his head, he turned so that Draco had a clear view of his toned stomach. Disgustingly, Lucius just stared. Potter was Draco's age for Merlin's sake!

Draco coughed and walked forward.

“Draco! Where have you been? You're late.”

“I'm sorry, father. I was-” Draco began, but his father cut across him to speak to the elderly witch.

“And another set of robes for my son. He'll have the same as Harry's, but in dark grey, without the trim.”

The old woman merely waved a hand at one of the younger witches, who came hurrying over to Draco. She gestured to a second stool and Draco stepped up next to Potter. There was the sound of the tape measure rolling and unrolling in the air and Lucius rejecting a range of new materials for a few minutes, before Potter attempted conversation.

“We should stop meeting like this,” he grinned.

Draco scowled at the witch hovering by his shoulder.

“Meeting me is an occupational hazard of marrying my father and moving in to my house, Potter.”

“I meant like this, getting fitted for robes.”

Draco did his best to ignore the irritation of both Potter and the tape measure stretching down his back.

“We met in Madam Malkin's before we started at Hogwarts. Maybe you've forgotten?”

Draco frowned. Was Potter an idiot or was this some attempt to insult him? Of course Draco remembered. He swatted away the woman's hands from his chest.

“Sometimes I think about how things might have been if we'd... if I'd... if that first meeting had been different.”

Potter's voice was low now, too quiet for Lucius to hear.

“I do too, Potter. Sometimes I think I should have strangled you with Madam Malkin's tape measure and saved everyone a lot of trouble.”

Potter didn't reply and Draco felt a flash of satisfaction. The git was probably thinking about all the people who'd died for him and feeling unreasonably guilty about it.

The witch finished his measurements in silence. She ,at least, knew her job well enough not to show any sign of hearing their conversation. A few minutes later she popped up in front of him again.

“Okay, if you could undress please, we can try something on you.”

Draco pulled off his top and trousers as she went to fetch a robe from the cupboard. It was cooler in the room than he expected and he felt the hairs on his arms stiffen slightly. He rubbed his arms together to warm them.

“Guess we're both scarred then.”

Draco looked sharply at Potter, who was staring at his exposed forearm. He made no reply.

“Have you tried to get rid of it?”

“No, Potter. I like to keep it and show it off when I'm out.”

Potter sighed. Not like he was annoyed, just tired. Draco looked down at his arm. The black ink stood out against his skin as much now as it had ever done, though the surrounding skin was still a little red and sore from his latest Ministry interview. Thank Merlin those had stopped since Potter arrived.

“I hoped mine might go away after the final battle,” Potter admitted. “I thought it might have been connected to him somehow, to his Horcrux, but I guess I'm stuck with it.”

The witch who measured Draco handed a robe over, saving him the need to respond to Potter's insane confessions. It was grey and dull compared to Potter's shimmering green one, but he supposed that had been the point. His jaw tightened with the realisation that his father would always buy nicer robes for Potter than for him.

At the witch's gesture, Draco obligingly held his hands up and she levitated it over his body. It was a nice, soft fabric and he enjoyed the feel of it brushed over his face and arms. It was halfway on when he heard the shout.

“Mister Malfoy!”

Draco tugged the rest of the garment over his body and looked expectantly at her, before he realised she wasn't talking to him. Potter, ever the clumsy fool, had trodden on his robes and the hems were quickly unravelling. Draco smothered a laugh as the woman desperately flicked her wand at Potter's feet, casting quick holding charms.

There was a low chuckle from the fireplace.

“Harry, whatever will I do with you?”

Potter stopped apologising to the woman at his feet and looked up.

“Sorry, Lucius,” he began, but he was waved into silence.

“Don't worry. We're paying enough for these robes that re-stitching a hem doesn't matter.”

The witch next to Potter nodded hastily in agreement.

“But I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave now, Harry. We have the organising committee meeting for The Ministry Ball tonight. Will you be alright on your own?”

“Of course.” Draco thought Potter sounded relieved, but his father didn't seem to notice. “Have a good evening.”

Lucius strode over to Potter's stool and Potter bent down and gave a quick kiss to Lucius' lips. Draco scowled involuntarily. They only ever kissed in front of strangers as far as Draco knew. He wondered dryly whose idea that had been.

Lucius glanced at him before he turned away.

“If I hear you caused any problems, you'll live to regret it,” he hissed.

Draco wanted to say that he'd rather have stayed in the library, but he merely nodded his understanding. His father went to the fireplace, took a handful of Floo powder from the little silver box on the mantelpiece and stepped into the fire.

The room seemed to instantly relax. The two witches attending Draco and Potter pinned their robes in place at a far more leisurely pace.

“I understand, you know. You're not the only one who had family murdered by Voldemort.”

Draco stiffened. The day he talked to Potter about his mother's death was the day he pitched himself off the roof of the Manor. But Potter wasn't deterred.

“I lost friends in the war too. I know what it's like to-”

“No, Potter. You have no idea what it's like,” he spat. “Your friends are given Orders of Merlin, mine are locked away or dead.”

He refused to think about Vince, whose body was never recovered from the Room of Requirement, or Greg serving the first of many years in Azkaban, or Pansy under house arrest. He saw Potter straighten out of the corner of his eye.

“Fred Weasley was killed.”

“Was he? I guess there are so many Weasleys no-one really noticed.”

Draco was blasted off the stool before he'd even taken a breath. When he looked up from the floor, Potter was still standing on his, with his wand out and pointing at Draco.

The witches gathered their things and raced to the Floo, the elderly lady in the lead. They cast a few spells to collect their remaining robes and disappeared into green flames.

“Don't ever talk about the Weasleys like that again. They are better people than you could ever be.”

“Then why don't you live with them? Surely they could make room in that shed of theirs.”

“Shut your mouth, Malfoy!”

Draco saw red. Maybe it was Potter using his last name that carried him back to their Hogwarts rivalry, or maybe the frustration of his friends' lives, but Draco's wand was in his hand in an instant.

His _Duro_ bounced off Potter's _Protego_ and hit a vase of flowers, which promptly turned into stone and toppled to the floor, smashing its petals into pieces.

Draco rolled away

 _“Incendio!”_

Draco ducked behind one of the large armchairs as fire shot from Potter's wand, the smell of burning wallpaper washing over him. He stuck his wand over the arm of the chair in Potter's direction.

 _“Expulso!”_

There was a loud crack as the wooden table near Potter exploded and the tapping of millions of splinters showering down on the hard floor.

 _“Stupefy!”_

 _“Confringo!”_

Draco was breathing heavily now, crouched low. He hadn't duelled in months and loathe as he was to admit it, Potter was a tough opponent. He poked his head around the side of the chair, but Potter already had his wand out.

 _“Langlock!”_

Draco felt his tongue curl up in the roof of his mouth and fix itself there. He tried to pull it down, but it wouldn't budge. It made breathing difficult and the air made a funny noise as it left his mouth. Potter struggled to sit up and after watching Draco's failed efforts to speak, lowered his wand in satisfaction.

But Draco wasn't finished yet. He concentrated on the non-verbal spell and looked directly into Potter's eyes.

Suddenly he was back on the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts. He watched a younger version of himself point his wand at Dumbledore, arm shaking and eventually lowering, before the Death Eaters arrived.  
The scene changed, and he was nearly startled out of his wits to see his own face peering back at him. He looked awful; this close he could see dark circles under his eyes and pale skin stretched over hollow cheeks. Potter was standing next to him, boils covering his face.  
Then Potter was in a forest. His mother was alive and she leaned over Potter's unmoving body. Draco watched as she placed her hand over Potter's and, for the millionth time, he wondered if she knew what she was doing; he'd read that a Protection Vow could only be made when two people were touching. She bent her head close to Potter and when she raised it seconds later, she spoke clearly: “He's dead.”  
Potter was in a stark, bare room, sitting on a hospital bed. A healer came in with a large man wearing official-looking robes, someone high up in the Ministry, Draco supposed. The healer waved his wand over Potter, muttering incantations until he announced no traces of the Imperius or any known Love potions were detected. Potter had a determined look on his face when the room swirled away again.  
Draco was back in the drawing room, but it was darker and empty except for Potter staring into the fire. The head of Hermione Granger looked back at him with sad eyes. “I'm sorry, Harry. The Vow is set in stone.”

And then the visions vanished. Draco was back in the present day drawing room and he saw Potter lying flat on his back. He went to raise his wand, tongue free to curse again, but it flew out of his hand.

Lucius caught it, cold fury etched on his face.

“What in Salazar's name happened here?” he demanded in a dangerously low voice.

Draco took in the room. Empty paintings were hanging off the walls and there were scorch marks on one of them were Potter had cast Incendio. Furniture was upturned, pieces of broken wood and stone were littered over the floor and, he realised belatedly, he and Potter were still just in their underwear. He grabbed a pillow to cover his modesty.

“I-”

“No, I don't want to hear it Draco. This time you've gone too far. You will clean this mess up tomorrow, without magic.”

“But Potter-”

“Harry is perfectly capable of behaving like an adult, while you still can't stop yourself from acting like a common squib. No, your punishment is to repair the mess you've created. Maybe you'll think twice before losing control next time.”

Draco scrunched the corner of the cushion he was still holding. Potter behaving like an adult? He'd never seen Potter behave in any other way that the spoiled child he was.

Lucius was helping Potter to his feet, who muttered something Draco couldn't quite make out. Lucius hushed him and together they left without a backward glance, Draco's wand still clasped firmly in his father's hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco didn't bother with breakfast the next day; his father would just insist he begin repairing the room before he ate anyway.

The drawing room was exactly as he had left it, though it looked worse in the morning light. Surely he wasn't expected to do this without magic? What was he supposed to do with the wallpaper that was burned and peeling off the wall? And how was he supposed to fix the broken vases and picture frames and tables without magic? Worst of all, the portraits had returned and he could do nothing to silence their grumbling and complaints.

Sighing, he started with the things he could mend. He picked up the sofa that had fallen backwards and set about retrieving the cushions that had flown off it. He righted the objects on the mantelpiece and tried to collect the Floo powder into its little box. He remembered Granger's face in the fire. _The Vow is set in stone,_ she'd said. So Potter wasn't entirely happy with this whole situation either.

When he'd spent hours tidying and arranging what he could, a terrified house-elf popped into the room. He returned Draco's wand, which Draco took to mean he was allowed to perform magic again. The rest of the room was dealt with in 5 minutes, to the relief the portraits.

It was gone midday when Draco left the drawing room. He summoned a snack from the house-elves in the kitchen and ate alone. He was desperate to avoid his father and Potter, so he headed out into the gardens, casting warming charms to counter-act the cool September air.

He crossed the patio and walked through the rose gardens. The flowers were in bloom, and even after 18 years, Draco marvelled at their colours. The yellow bushes came first, then the white and then two rows of coral, his mother had been particularly fond of the coral, and finally the red ones. Draco wondered what would happen to them without anyone to prune or look after them now. Part of him wanted the garden to slowly die in peace, a fitting tribute to his mother: beautiful like the rose but sharp like the thorn.

Draco kept walking. Past the large, square fountain, with stone borders and lilly pads floating in one corner. Past the perfectly-cut low hedges in ridiculous, symmetrical designs until he reached the small walled garden. Compared to the rest of the grounds, it seemed quite unremarkable, with a few trees and unkempt bushes in it. But to one side, hidden from view of the house, was a Secret Sycamore.

Draco moved towards it, pausing to check he was alone. Then he quickly stepped below it's branches and a sudden rain of red and orange sycamore leaves fell behind him. If anyone had been watching, they would have seen Draco step forward and simply vanish behind the leaves.

The magic of the trees was their ability to shield a particular person from all observers. The trees were rare; they had to be fed with a drop of their future owner's blood for years before they could perform the required magic. Narcissa had given over Draco's blood without her husband's knowledge when he was a baby, so by the time he was four, the tree responded only to him.

Draco lay on the grass, looking up at the criss-crossing branches that shielded the clear sky. He felt lost. He had been desperate to belong during the war. He burned with shame when he remembered how eagerly he'd agreed to take the Mark, how naïvely he'd believed the Death Eaters would be like family. His first task made him realise quickly the amount of loyalty the Dark Lord demanded of his followers, and the lack of patience he showed to those that failed him.

He felt a tear run down his cheek and the cold droplet splashed in his ear. He didn't cry often, he only remembered doing it once in the last 5 years, and he hadn't cried since his mother died. But he allowed himself to cry now. For the boy he was, who made so many stupid mistakes, and the man he'd become, who hadn't realised them until too late.

Dinner was a more sedate affair than usual. Lucius spoke about the latest plans for the Ministry Ball and didn't seem to care that he got just one word answers from his husband and son. Potter seemed tired, though Draco couldn't think why. It wasn't like he'd spent half a day tidying the drawing room.

\+ + +

Pansy Parkinson sat opposite him. Her hair was longer than the last time he'd seen it, which was not surprising as she'd not been allowed outside her own house in months. She looked well, though. She wore her favourite black and white dress with tights underneath and matching monochrome jewellery.

“How are you here?” he asked in wonder.

She shook her head. She looked as baffled as he felt.

“I don't know. I got an owl this morning saying I was allowed Floo visits as long as I had my Floo network monitored by the Ministry.”

“Why?”

“I don't know. They didn't say.”

Draco had a horrible feeling he knew.

“But they let you come _here?”_

She shrugged.

“I know! Weird, right? But I'm not complaining”

Pansy's face broke into a grin.

“But anyway, tell me about you. It is true about your father and Potter?”

“How do you know?” asked Draco sharply.

“Come on, all the old pure-blood families know. But I didn't actually think...” she gaped at him.

Draco nodded glumly. It was weird having someone other than his father say it. It was more real, and more depressing, somehow.

“So what's it like? Having the Chosen One living with you?”

He looked at her without humour.

“What do you think it's like? It's a complete nightmare.”

“Is he that bad?”

She blanched at his face and tried to qualify the question.

“Okay, it's Potter, I know he's an uncultured, annoying pain in the arse. But I never had him as the vindictive type.” She looked upstairs to where she presumably imagined Potter to be. “He's no Slytherin.”

Draco set his jaw.

“I hate him, Pansy. He ruined my life at school and he's still doing it now. My father adores him. It's like he's got the son he always wished I was. Potter the fucking hero.”

He was prevented from going on about how bad things were by the man in question. Potter walked in. He looked between them wordlessly and an awkward silence stretched out over the room. Then Potter turned around and walked out the way he'd come.

Pansy giggled and Draco felt his annoyance dissipate. He just rolled his eyes. It was good to hear Pansy laugh again; he realised he hadn't heard it in years and he'd missed it.

She stopped as Potter walked back in again.

“Hello, Pansy,” Potter said.

Pansy glanced at Draco before her eyes went back to Potter.

“Potter,” she acknowledged.

Draco wondered if Potter was going to spill his guts to her too, like he had at the robe fitting last night. But Potter had apparently learned his lesson.

“Um, I like your earrings.”

If Draco hadn't witnessed the train wreck that was Potter's Yule Ball at Hogwarts, he'd never have believed someone could be so pathetic.

“My mother enchanted them,” Pansy replied stiffly.

Potter put on a face he probably thought made him look interested and polite. Draco thought he looked like he was in pain.

“How is your mother?” he asked.

Pansy gave Draco a horrified look, hopped off her chair and practically ran out of the room. Potter looked at him in confusion.

“Her mother's dead.”

Draco looked at his wide eyes and refused to take pity on them.

“She died during the Battle of Hogwarts. I hate to be the one to break it to you, Potter, but you've missed your chance to make another Protection Vow there.”

Potter looked angry and a surge of satisfaction welled inside Draco. He turned on his heel and strode away after Pansy.

They had dinner together in Draco's bedroom, something he would never have been allowed to do before Potter arrived. They spoke about funny lessons at school, memories of spending the summer holidays together, times when their futures didn't look so bleak and uncertain. And every time she broke down and cried, Draco held her tightly, promising her things would get better.

\+ + +

Encouraged by Pansy's visit, Draco had taken himself to his usual place in the library. He flipped through pages and pages of Deathbed magic. There were Inheritance Vows, Ownership Vows, Redemption Vows, as well as Protection ones.

He'd found just one record of a Protection Vow. An elderly witch had charged her neighbour with guarding her cat while she went on holiday, but she died while away and, not knowing about the Bond the neighbour tried to get rid of the cat. When it kept mysteriously returning, he tied it in a bag and threw it in a lake. The next day his wife found him in their living room, apparently drowned to death with the cat sleeping peacefully on his chest.

Draco didn't think it likely that Potter would ever actually attempt to kill him, but he wondered whether it might be worth tempting him into it and hope the magic took its revenge.

He opened another book, flipping past the pages on how to perform a Protection Vow until he saw a small footnote, printed in tiny letters at the bottom of the page. Terminating a Protection Vow, it said. Draco felt his palms slip on the page; he'd found it, the way to get rid of Potter. Only the subject of a Protection Vow can break the Bond.

That was it? He desperately checked the next page, and the next one, but there was nothing more. Nothing about how the subject could do it. The authors must have considered it rare that anyone would ever want to revoke a Protection Vow. Obviously they had never had Potter make it.

He slammed the book shut. There must be a way to break the Vow. If there wasn't, the books would just say so, like they did for the Unbreakable Vow. He was convinced the Vow could be broken and he was just as convinced he would find it.

He heard the library door click shut and footsteps crossed the room. He stuffed the books away, checking their covers were still disguised. He looked up just as Potter loomed over him.

“Look Draco,” he began and Draco bristled.

After living with him for a month, Draco recognised the voice Potter used when he thought he was being _reasonable_ with Draco. It set Draco's teeth on edge.

“I'm trying to do what's right. I made this Vow with your mother and now I have to-”

“Now you have to what, Potter? Marry my father? Move in with us?”

Potter's scowl spurred Draco on. He knew Potter had looked at ways to get out of this; he'd seen his fire call to Granger, but that just made him angrier. Potter could defeat the Dark Lord, come back from the dead, but he couldn't stop himself marrying Draco's father.

“I find it hard to believe my mother used her last breath to make you promise to make my life miserable.”

“Make _your_ life miserable? You think I'm enjoying this?”

“Then you know what to do, don't you? Piss off.”

“I can't, Malfoy! I made a fucking Protection Vow and I have to-”

“I don't need you to protect me!”

Draco stood up. They were almost touching now. His extra few inches let him sneer down at Potter, but Potter didn't back down.

“Oh yeah? Didn't feel that way when you were holding on to me in the Room of Requirement.”

Draco's fist connected with Potter's gut. Potter staggered back, doubled over, but he recovered quickly and lunged at Draco. They grappled for a moment. Potter was stronger, but Draco was taller and leaner and used his leverage to twist Potter away.

Before Potter could turn around to continue their fight, Draco pushed Potter face first into a bookshelf.

Books toppled to the floor as Potter's hands groped for support along the shelves. Draco grabbed them and slammed them above Potter's head. Potter tried to speak but Draco shoved his face further forward with an elbow. He heard a crack and felt the jarring reverberate up his arm. He leaned down, until his lips bumped Potter's ear.

“I fucking love the sound of your nose breaking.”

He wanted to hurt Potter, to humiliate him, to make him suffer like Draco had every day sine he'd arrived.

Potter's arms had gone slack when his nose cracked, and Draco held them above his head with just his left hand. He moved the other one down Potter's arm, digging his nails into the boy's armpit, pulling at the sweat-soaked hair there and scratching every piece of sensitive skin he could reach.

Potter tried to squirm away, but Draco kept him pressed against the bookshelves with his body. His face was buried in Potter's hair and strands of it stuck to his lips. Potter's shoulder blade dug painfully into his chest every time one of them took a ragged breath.

Draco moved his free hand lower and felt around Potter's stomach. He pinched the skin there, viciously twisting it and making Potter hiss. He reached Potter's jeans and before he knew what he was doing, before he could think, he reached down. His palm covered a bulge.

Time stopped as Draco's desire to hurt Potter twisted into something new.

He brought his other hand down and wrapped it tightly around Potter's neck.

“If you tell anyone...” he spat.

Potter shook his head, spraying blood on Draco's hand. Potter rocked backwards against Draco's groin and Draco felt himself hard in an instant. Had he been turned on this whole time?

There was no room in his mind to question what was happening. All thought had been driven from him, replaced by a hunger to touch Potter. To have him, mark him, claim him. Be inside him.

Draco let go of Potter, not contemplating that Potter might try to stop him. Potter grabbed the shelf his face was in and bent over, back flat and arse in the air. Draco staggered back, but steadied himself with Potter's hips.

Draco fumbled with Potter's bloody Muggle jeans buttons, but finally yanked them down his legs. He quickly turned to his own trousers, letting them fall down and freeing his cock.

He nudged his cock between Potter's arse cheeks, with one hand gripping Potter's hip. His pre-come dribbled onto Potter's skin and he smeared it over the head of his cock and around Potter's entrance. He felt Potter's hole with his thumb, and the skin still felt too dry to try to fuck. He put a finger in his mouth, licking and coating it in saliva. He pushed the soaked finger inside and heard Potter cry out, deep and throaty.

“Mal-foy!”

The mix of need and panic in Potter's voice encouraged him. He shoved a second dripping finger in with the first and twisted slowly, trying to stretch Potter. When he thought he might come from Potter's moans alone, he lined up his cock. The tip slipped at first, but Draco guided it until he could press forward and fit half an inch of himself inside Potter.

Draco's legs nearly gave out under him. The pressure of Potter's muscles clamped around him was the best feeling he'd ever had. Black spots crept into the edges of his vision and he had to remind himself to breath.

He pulled out and moved back in, sliding in further and further each time until he was buried in Potter's arse. Potter rocked back with every move Draco made, and he couldn't help the noise that came from his lips.

It only took three thrusts for Draco to come. He felt his cock twitch and swell and then he was spurting inside Potter. He fell onto Potter's back, leaning on him for support.

Several deep breaths later, he pushed himself up and pulled out. His cock was soft and wet. He realised he'd completely forgotten about Potter, but when he turned to rest against the bookshelves, his prick was as limp as Draco's and there was a wet stain over his pants and jeans around his knees.

Potter's face was shades of red; pink lips, crimson flush over his cheeks and forehead and the bright red of the blood smeared across his nose and chin. His mouth was open and his eyes were wide. They stared at each other in silence until Draco staggered backwards.

He pulled up his trousers and fled from the library, sprinting along the hallways. He couldn't think; he was only aware of his footsteps, heavy and loud and uneven, echoing down the corridor. He reached his bedroom and fell through the door. He clung to the handle for support, but his knees gave out and he sank to the floor.

He managed to push the door shut behind him and he crawled toward his bed, breathing heavily. He didn't have the energy to climb up, so he sat on the floor, leaning against it.

The room was spinning and his head ached. He felt a swirling, clenching in his stomach and he rocked forward onto all fours as vomit splattered over the floorboards and his hands. His stomach heaved again, and again, until he was gasping for breath and tears were coursing down his face.

After some time, he had no idea how long, Draco woke with his head on resting on the side of his bed. His throat burned and his face felt tight. He looked down at himself and the sight nearly made him sick again. His vomit coated the floor, his hands and arms and his trousers. It smelled disgusting, but Draco couldn't do anything more than look at it.

After yet more time, he summoned the energy to reach for his wand. It took him three flicks before he managed to clean himself and the floor. He vanished his clothes for good measure before his eyes closed again.

The shivering woke him hours later. He realised he was curled up naked on his bedroom floor. The room was dark now but his eyes grew accustomed to it quickly. With a huge effort, he put his wand on the bedside table and dragged himself into bed, under the covers.

The next time he woke, it was light outside and he was able to start thinking clearly. Though there was really only one thought that kept being repeated over and over in his head: he'd had sex with Potter.

He, Draco Malfoy, had just put his cock in another guy's arse. He wasn't even gay. He'd slept with Pansy and messed around with other girls, and not once had he even been slightly curious about men. Until he'd fucked Potter and nearly passed out from the feel of him.

And, shit. He'd fucked Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, his father's husband, his school rival. And fucked didn't quite express the fact it had been closer to rape. Draco squeezed his eyes shut, silently pleading that Potter had been into it, however unlikely.

Potter had wanted it, Draco told himself. It had been Potter moaning; Draco's cheeks flamed remembering the sounds Potter had made. Had he made noises like that too? It had been Potter who got en erection and Potter who pressed back into him and Potter who didn't once try to stop him.

With a shaky, chocking breath, he cursed Potter. This would never have happened if he'd just stayed away. Why was he always there when Draco fucked up?


	3. Chapter 3

Potter always spent the weekends away from Malfoy Manor. Draco assumed he stayed with friends, but in truth, he'd never really thought about it. Until the weekend after the library incident, as he was now referring to it.

He had two days Potter-free and they were normally his favourite of the week. But now Potter dominated his thoughts every waking second. Draco obviously couldn't go back to the library and he didn't want to risk getting the house-elves to bring the books to him, so he spent two days in his room with nothing to think about except Harry Potter.

By the time Sunday evening came, he resolved to act as if nothing happened. Then he could go back to hating Potter.

\+ + +

Draco managed to avoid seeing anyone for Monday's breakfast and lunch, but he knew he couldn’t escape dinner. So, with trepidation, he entered the dining room at six o'clock.

Potter wasn't there.

Draco took his usual place and was greeted with a nod from his father, who promptly returned his focus to the papers in front of him. The starter appeared and Potter still hadn't shown up. He supposed Potter's absence was a sign that he wasn't entirely comfortable with the library incident either and Draco took some satisfaction out of that.

His hands shook slightly when he tried to eat his soup and he bumped his spoon against his teeth more than once. Luckily, his father was too engrossed in his reading to notice. Eventually, he gave in.

“Has Potter finally left, then?”

His voice sounded strained, but Lucius didn't even look up.

“Of course not. Harry's busy and couldn't make dinner tonight.”

Again, Lucius' eyes stayed on his papers. Draco momentarily though about telling his father what had happened, just for a reaction.

“Busy doing what?”

Lucius flipped a page.

“He's dismantling the dungeons. He has some negative associations and he thought he'd feel better if he removed the place.”

Draco was so surprised he stopped thinking about Potter for a second.

“And you agreed?”

“Of course I agreed. He's my husband. We've been through this.” Lucius' voice went low in warning.

“I know, I know. I just... what is he doing to do? How do you dismantle dungeons? They're dungeons.”

Lucius sighed.

“I don't know. If you're so interested, why don't you go down there and help him?”

“No! I'm not interested. If Potter wants to try to remove dungeons, I'm not going to help him.”

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence, with the occasional rustle of paper.

Draco vowed not to go down there. He'd been trying to avoid Potter. Why should that change because Potter had the same idea? He busied himself tidying his room; he arranged his robes in colour order, he organised his school notes by year and subject and he alphabetised his bookshelf, all by hand. At ten o'clock in the evening, his resolve broke.

Draco walked as slowly as he possibly could to the dungeon entrance. He wasn't entirely sure why he was looking for Potter. There was nothing to say, other than Obliviate, and he didn't think his father would take kindly to Draco removing Potter's memories.

The stairs that lead down were dark and silent. He withdrew his wand.  
“Homenum Revelio.”

The spell revealed the presence of a single person in the dungeons and Draco began descending the steps as quietly as he could. A few steps in, and the blackness was thick and completely engulfed him. He wondered whether Potter had used something to obscure himself down here and congratulated himself for bringing the Hand of Glory. The light coming from its palm cast shadows over his face and the bit of the floor he could see.

At the bottom was the passageway to the dungeons. There was still no sound of Potter, but Draco knew which one he'd be in. The shadows grew and shifted as he approached it. He passed the spot he'd found Pettigrew and he remembered vividly the terror-stricken expression on the man's face and the awkward angle of his body, as if he'd been running away from something. And, of course, the twisted metallic hand that gripped his throat tightly, long after he'd stopped breathing.

He stood in the entrance to the dungeon Potter and his friends had been held in. There was a dark shape towards the back, huddled against the cold, stone floor. Draco stepped closer.

“Potter.”

If Potter was surprised to hear Draco, he hid it well. Perhaps he didn't care. Draco looked around the dungeon.

It had been used as a bit of a storage room recently; they hadn't had much use for keeping prisoners since the end of the war, so Lucius had filled it with things he didn't want to hand over to the Ministry.

There were a few rusty suits of armour against the walls, broken torches and a pile of Dark Magic books. Old portraits were stacked in one corner, though there didn't seem to be anyone in them any more. Other bits and pieces were strewn around: candles, boxes, quills. Draco suspected they were all either illegal or cursed. Probably both.

Potter still hadn't moved. Draco knew he should leave. He hadn't wanted to see Potter after the library incident and here he was, trying to have a conversation with the git.

“Apparently you're trying to remove the dungeons.”

Potter didn't look up. It was bad enough when his father didn't consider him important enough to look at, but now Potter too? Draco felt the familiar flare of anger in his stomach.

“Are you here to help?” Potter asked eventually.

“No. I'm here to tell you you're an idiot if you think you can remove dungeons.”

He waited for Potter to say something, anything, but the git just silently carried on with his spell work. This was Potter, who wanted to talk to Draco about his mother, about the Dark Lord, about how things might have been different in Madam Malkin's. But he couldn't say one fucking word about shagging Draco.

Draco couldn't take it any more. Enraged, he barged into Potter with his knee. Potter sprang up and grabbed Draco by the shoulders. Two swift and painful blows to the groin had him bent over and wheezing.

He punched the side of Potter's face, connecting with bones in his cheek and jaw, and got a strong blow to the stomach in return. He heard his wand clattering to the floor, but he didn't care; he'd rather hurt Potter with his bare hands anyway.

He felt alive again, like he was in control of something, if only the pain he could cause Potter.

But the punches weren't enough. Draco needed more and he slammed his face into Potter's, misjudging the angle slightly, so that his lips hit Potter's cheek and the edge of a nostril. Potter's glasses felt cold and sharp against his face.

Potter opened his mouth on Draco's chin and ran his teeth up his skin until he found Draco's lips. Draco pushed his tongue forward, swirling around Potter's mouth. Potter kissed back recklessly; teeth digging into the sensitive inside of his lips. Draco's eyes were open and he could see the flickering of Potter's lashes in the corner of his eye.

“Fuck me,” Potter gasped against his lips.

Draco jerked his head away. His mind was clouded and soon he knew he wouldn't be able to think, but he forced himself to be reasonable, while he could. As crazy as it was to fuck Potter, it was crazier to do it in this very room.

“Not here.”

Potter rubbed his erection into Draco's groin. It pushed against the side of his cock, which jumped eagerly. Potter's eyes were lidded and his skin was pink from Draco's tongue and teeth.

“Yes, here. Fuck me here.”

“Potter. No. You don't want-”

“Don't tell me what I want, Malfoy. I want you to fuck me right here.”

Draco tilted his head so he could see behind Potter. He pushed Potter backward, gripping his shoulders to steer him. The flickering candle light from where he'd dropped the Hand of Glory bounced off one of the suits of armour and, vindictively, Draco walked toward it, deliberately not slowing down in time. Potter's back smashed against it and Draco felt a rush of warm air hit his face as Potter cried out.

Draco lifted one of Potter's legs up and hoisted it around his waist. Potter nearly toppled over but Draco pinned him in place. There was a loud clanking noise and two large metal-clad arms reached out from behind Potter, scooping him up until he was off the floor. Potter cried out again, whether in surprise or pain, Draco didn't care.

Potter's fingers clung onto Draco's shoulders and Potter jerked his head behind him, twisting in the suit's grasp. The suit lifted Potter higher and he slipped downwards, so his arse sat in the two metal hands and his back rested against the arms.

Potter fumbled with his trousers, wriggling out of them until they were bunched around his knees. Draco undid his own and let them fall to the floor.

Draco whispered a small incantation and the Hand of Glory floated between them. It illumined Potter's red cock on his stomach and Draco's paler one already nestled in Potter's dark curls. Potter gasped as it closed its fingers around his ignored prick and pumped. Draco looked up, expecting Potter to resist, but he thrust his hips into the Hand's grasp. Draco watched it's thumb stroke the pre-come dripping from the head.

Draco returned his attention to his own cock. He licked his fingers and opened Potter's hole. Potter's head rolled back with a thump against the suit's chest, his eyes shut behind the glasses. He teased and pulled for as long as he could wait, then nudged against the slick entrance.

The same blinding hot, tight pressure squeezed his cock when he moved forward. Draco shut his eyes involuntarily. He managed a few quick thrusts before he felt his cock jerk and he came with a yell.

When he opened his eyes, the Hand was floating nearby, with trails of white running over the fingers. Potter was flushed and his hair stuck to his forehead, completely covering his scar.

The suit dropped its arms and Potter fell to the floor with a thump. Draco reached out a hand, but he remembered himself at the last moment and covered the gesture by pulling his trousers back up.

“Did you know?”

Potter's voice was steady. It wasn't bad enough they'd just had sex in the very place Draco's family had held Potter prisoner, now Potter wanted to chat?

“I don't know what you're talking about, Potter. And even if I did-”

“When I was here. Before. And they asked you to identify me. Did you know?”

“What has this... Why are you asking this?”

“I need to know.”

“I wasn't sure.”

Potter just nodded. For some reason it made him feel inadequate, as if he'd let Potter down. Not that he had any intention of being judged by the Chosen One.

Potter looked at him. The lust-filled gaze was gone and his eyes were piercing.

“You won't be able to get rid of them, you know. They were created by Dark Magic and only Dark Magic can remove them.”

“I wasn't trying to remove the dungeons,” Potter replied.

“Then what...”

“I wanted to remove the memories.”

Draco tuned on his heel and stalked out. Potter didn't follow him, but the occupant of the painting on top of the pile did.

\+ + +

Draco's anger as being used by Potter was nothing compared to Lucius' at breakfast the following day. His eyes were cold and his voice harsh. It made Draco suddenly long for yesterday's dinner when his father hadn't looked at him at all.

“It's time you grew up, Draco.”

Draco looked blankly at his father. Did his father want him to get a job? Truthfully, he wasn't so against that idea if it meant getting out of the Manor.

“I've found you a wife.”

Draco went cold.

“What?”

“I have found you a wife. She has arranged to meet with you to discuss the arrangements in two day's time.”

“But I don't want-”

“It's not about what you want. You will marry and produce a child to carry on this family's name and that is the end of it.”

All Draco's protests had fallen on deaf ears. His father was unrelenting.

“Be at my study at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. You can use my Floo.”

Draco didn't remember how he'd finished the meal. He must have left and walked back to his room, because he found himself sitting on his bed, wondering what else could go wrong in his life.

He spent another day alone in his room. The house-elf didn't even bat an over-sized eyelid when he asked for meals to be delivered to him there. He was miserable and frustrated and found himself in bed by nine o'clock.

His dreams swirled with faceless women wearing white standing in the distance. Whenever he tried to get closer, the women would morph into shining, silver suits of armour, that held him and wouldn't let go.

The sound of his bedroom door opening woke him. It must have been late, because there was just the dim star light coming through the gap in his curtains. When Draco raised his head, there was a shadowy silhouette standing by the door. He'd recognise Potter anywhere.

Potter walked up to the bed and sat on the edge of it. Draco waited for him to speak, but he didn't say anything. One of his legs was jerking rapidly up and down and the movement set his mattress bouncing.

“Stop that, Potter. What do you want?”

“I, er.. I thought we could try something different this time,” Potter stuttered.

This time? Draco was glad of the darkness so Potter couldn't see the shock written all over his face. They were doing this again?

“What?”

“I thought that maybe I could be on top.”

Draco sighed inwardly. He had wondered if this would come up; Potter was a Gryffindor after all, and they were renowned for rushing into new things. He drew himself up against the headboard.

“No, Potter. I fuck you. That's how this works.”

He didn't elaborate on what this was, but thankfully Potter didn't comment.

“No, I meant that I could be on top of you when you fuck me. Like, you know... sitting on you.”

Draco stared. This whole thing was a bad idea. Now he and Potter were standing around discussing sexual positions, like a bloody couple. His prick strained inside his underwear.

“Fine.”

Why was he agreeing to this? Neither of them moved.

“Get over here then.”

His voice came out too loud and too high-pitched, but Potter scooted up to him anyway.

Usually Draco pulled or pushed Potter where he wanted him, so this felt awkward, almost too tender. More for something to do, Draco pulled Potter's top over his head. It was awkward and he got it stuck for a bit on Potter's chin, but eventually it came off. Draco reached out tentatively and touched the muscles on Potter's chest he'd seen in the drawing room.

Potter quickly shed the rest of his clothes.

Draco was only wearing his pants, so when Potter pulled down the bed covers, Draco lifted his hips and Potter tugged off the garment easily. His cock sprang up and Potter took hold of it, stroking a few times.

Potter crawled on top of him, positioning himself over Draco's cock. He lowered himself just enough so the tip nudged against his opening. Potter was slicker and wetter than before; he must have come prepared with a spell or bottle of something. The thought made Draco even more excited. With self-control developed over years of being a Malfoy, Draco resisted pushing up. He waited as Potter pushed down, taking Draco's tip over the rim of muscle and engulfing him in blinding heat.

Draco stared at Potter's face. Now his eyes were accustomed to the gloom, he could tell Potter's eyes were shut and his was mouth open in a silent cry. Potter's facial muscles twitched as he took in a bit more of Draco until he was sitting as far down Draco's cock as he could go.

When Potter opened his eyes, the little light in the room reflected off of them.

“Feel good?” Potter asked.

Draco just grunted and Potter showed white teeth as he grinned wolfishly down at him.

“Daddy's going to ride you now,” Potter said quietly.

Draco's eyebrows shot up into his hair. He made a strangled noise and struggled to sit up before realising that would be impossible with Potter's weight on top of him.

“Did you just..?”

“Don't you trust daddy?” Potter asked again in the same low voice, drawing out each word.

Draco could only nod. He was supposed to be in charge, but this was rapidly slipping out of his control. Even when he fucked Potter in a bed in a normal bedroom, the idiot managed to turn it into something completely wrong and disturbing that terrified him with how much it turned him on.

“I want to hear you say it,” Potter persisted.

Draco couldn't help himself.

“Yes, daddy,” he whispered.

He felt his cock throb inside Potter as he heard his own words. Then, in for a Knut, in for a Galleon, he told himself.

“What are you going to do, daddy?”

“I'm going to show you what the good boys do,” Potter replied, wriggling on top of Draco's hips enticingly. “Do you want daddy to show you how to be a good boy, Draco?”

Fuck, this was so wrong. But then Potter was sliding up and down Draco's prick and Draco couldn't give a shit about anything else.

“Yes,” Draco gasped as Potter thrust forward quicker. “I'll be good for you, daddy.”

Potter moaned and Draco could make out his hand moving to take hold of his own cock. Draco watched as Potter's arm moved up and down,

“Why are you so tight, daddy?” Draco groaned through gritted teeth. “Don't you do this to other boys?”

“No, only you Draco.”

Draco dragged his eyes from Potter's cock to his face. He wondered when he'd lost all sense of reason and reality.

“Will you protect me, daddy?” he heard himself whisper.

Potter didn't hesitate and, later, Draco would wonder if it was that that tipped him over the edge.

“With my life.”

Draco threw his head back as Potter's muscles clenched around his cock, almost squeezing his orgasm from him. He shook from the force of it and felt his heart thumping so hard it hurt.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Potter looking down at him. He was still sitting on Draco's hips and there was a faint smile on his lips as he reached to take himself in hand again. Draco swatted his fingers away.

He reached underneath Potter and pulled out his wet, softening cock, then pulled on Potter's hips up the bed until he was kneeling over Draco's chest. He propped himself up on his elbows so his mouth was level with Potter's forgotten hard on. He glanced up at Potter and bit down on a smile when he saw his awed expression.

Draco licked the underside of Potter's cock, from above his balls to the slit at the very tip. It wasn't easy; it kept twitching, even bumping his nose at one point. Draco held it steady with one hand around the base and opened his lips around the head.

Potter gasped above him, which he took to be a good sign, and angled himself so he could fit more of it in his mouth. It nudged the back of his throat and Draco almost gagged, but he forced himself to breath through his nose and relax.

He began moving his hand up and down and bobbed his head forward and backward, careful to keep his teeth away.

Potter's greedy hands were in his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it and pulling in different directions. Draco would have been annoyed, but the desperate sounds Potter was making were worth it.

Potter came with a shout and a rush of sticky, unpleasant-tasting liquid filled his mouth. Draco wasn't expecting it and he swallowed some while most spilled down his chin.

Potter rolled off him as Draco reached for his wand to clean himself. Then he looked over to Potter.

He had his head in the pillow. For a terrified second, Draco thought he might be dead and images of drowning and smug-looking cats flashed through his mind. Then Potter's shoulder rose as he breathed in.

“Potter?”

His head moved further into the material.

“Potter!”

He shook Potter's shoulder. The boy made some muffled announcement into the pillow.

“What was that? I can't understand you, you idiot.”

Harry lifted his head and looked at Draco.

“Do you think I'm a depraved pervert?”

Draco laughed in surprise.

“Yes,” he told him and Harry grimaced. His eyes scrunched shut as though he couldn't bear to look at Draco.

“But in case you hadn't noticed, I happen to be rather depraved myself. Or do you always have sex with a cursed hand and a suit of armour?”

Harry opened his eyes and his shock was so obvious that Draco nearly smiled.

“What I'm trying to tell you, and you are refusing to understand, is that it seems I like depraved and perverted.”

Harry smiled sheepishly and, though Draco knew he would chide himself for it later, this time he smiled back.

Yes, Harry Potter was fucked up, but Draco knew he was too.

\+ + +

The next morning Draco woke early. There was no sign of Harry and Draco wondered when he'd put on his invisibility cloak and crept back to his own room.

He dragged himself to his bathroom and showered in a daze. He was getting engaged. He didn't even know who the woman was; he hadn't thought to ask. He'd always known this day would come, though he'd hoped his mother would be around to ensure he married someone he liked.

Water streamed off his shoulders and down his back and Draco watched it swirl away down the hole by his feet. He wished every touch of Harry's hands, or feel of his lips, could be washed away just as easily. When he'd rinsed the last of the shampoo from his hair, he stepped to look at himself in the full length mirror.

His hair fell in dark blond clumps around his face, the water that dripped from them collecting in the hollow of his collar-bones. He was thinner than he had been months ago, but he still had the outline of sinewy muscles along his arms and chest. His stomach was flat and taut and a long scar ran down it's length, even whiter than his pale skin. Guess we're both scarred then.

Draco cast a drying spell and pulled on the clothes the house elf had laid out for him. One of his better robes, with black trousers and a crisp white shirt underneath. He cast a Tempus: 7:15. It was still far too early to meet his father.

After pacing for a few minutes, he decided a walk in the grounds might cure his restlessness. He grabbed his cloak and made his walk through the quiet house. He had just entered the conservatory when he heard it.

“Psst!”

Draco froze, with one hand on the sliding door to the gardens. He wasn't particularly scared; he had a pretty good idea who a bodiless voice in The Manor could belong to. He let his hand fall and turned around in the empty room.

He waited, expecting Harry to reveal himself but he didn't. Instead the voice spoke again, soft and tentative.

“Do you regret it?”

Definitely Harry's voice. Draco nearly asked what he was referring to, but that was rather obvious.

“I'm not speaking to you if I can't see you,” Draco stalled.

Harry's head popped into the air, floating by the entrance back into the Manor. It unnerved him just as much as it had that time as Hogsmeade.

“Do you regret what we did?” Harry asked again.

Draco wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell Harry it was a horrible mistake, or even better, a joke, but somehow his natural Slytherin tendencies had deserted him.

Harry's eyes seemed greener than usual. It took him a few moments to realise it was because they were so wide. He was suddenly reminded of a nervous house-elf in front of his father.

“I don't know,” he said irritably. Why did they have to have this conversation now? Or, in fact, at all. “Do you?”

Harry's head shook. It was odd, just a turning head in the air.

“No, I'm glad it happened. Not that I ever expected, but... I don't regret that it happened like that. With you.”

Draco suddenly had a very bad feeling about where this was going.

“Harry, what do you mean?” he asked slowly.

“I've never... that, in the library, that was the first time I'd ever...”

Draco closed his eyes. Fuck, this whole thing was a disaster. He had taken Harry's virginity. Two weeks ago Draco would have been happy about that revelation, that he'd taken something from Harry that he could never get back, had marked him deeper than any scar could, but now he just felt sick. When he opened his eyes, Harry was looking at him nervously.

“Well, I just wanted to tell you, in case you thought, I don't know... but I'd never done it before.”

Draco was struggling to come up with a response. What did he expect Draco to say? Did he want to hear it had been Draco's first time too?

“I mean, I was with Ginny for a while, but that didn't work out and I realised... well, afterwards it was different. She doesn't, she can't...” he trailed off.

“Harry. What-”

“No, you don't have to say anything. It's just, I don't know what it's supposed to be like for most people. But probably not like what we did. But I wanted to say that I probably don't want it to be. After everything...”

Harry looked at him finally. Draco stared back. He couldn't think of anything to say. Suddenly he didn't have to; Harry's head vanished under the cloak again and there was the unmistakeable sound of footsteps going back into The Manor.

Draco cast another Tempus charm: 7:27. He still had another hour and a half before he was due in his father's study. He walked outside, wondering vaguely when his life had ever been simple.

He crossed the gardens, not really paying attention to where he was walking until he saw the brick walls and Sycamore leaves in front of him.

Draco lay in the shadow with the familiar feel of grass under him. He wondered about Harry. Or, more precisely, he wondered about Harry and him. He hated Harry at Hogwarts, where he was always that little bit better than Draco. He'd hated Harry immediately after Hogwarts, when Harry had spoken up at Draco's trial and was branded a hero all over again for saving a young, misguided Death Eater. And he'd especially hated Harry three months after that, when he'd come to live at the Manor and begun this marriage to his father.

And now? Harry was, as ever, the cause of Draco's problems. But the worst part was that Draco found the person he really hated most often these days was himself.

The fist few shards of light from the rising sun glinted through the leaves above him. Their dark silhouettes shook in the light autumn breeze. Draco watched a leaf fall, twirling in the air currents with a sad inevitability he knew all too well.

Draco allowed himself to think honestly, with no regard for what was possible or right or expected. Him and Harry. Was it so strange they be drawn to each other? Two damaged boys, used and tricked and lied to, forced to stand and watch all control over their lives get taken away. Draco doubted anyone else their age had suffered a Crucio from the Dark Lord. Or felt him coolly, carefully invade their minds.

But they'd both survived. They both still stood, proud and desperate and passionate. He suddenly wondered if Harry might be the only one to understand what he'd been through. And as for understanding Harry, well hadn't he just admitted that the Weasley girl couldn't. Was that a hint that Draco could?

A third Tempus told him it was nearly nine. He dusted himself down and performed a cleaning and ironing charm on his robes. The walk to his father's study was over too quickly and he found himself facing the door all too soon.

He didn't even need to knock. The door opened and his father beckoned him inside.

“Draco, you will not ruin this. You will marry Miss. Greengrass and you will uphold the reputation of this family.”

“I'm of age, father. You can't order me to marry.”

“But I can still disown you, cut you off from any inheritance, from any prospects. Without this family, what chance do you chance of finding somewhere to live, of getting a job?”

Lucius chuckled coldly.

“You are to meet her at Falcon Alley and attend a few wedding shops for flowers, robes, that sort of thing. The wedding will of course take place here so you can tell her she needn't worry about a location.”

Draco stepped into the fire without a backward glance.


	4. Chapter 4

Astoria Greengrass was tall and slim, with dark hair and dark eyes.

She spoke about herself and her family and Draco remembered her sister had been in his house at Hogwarts. Now he thought about it, he remembered Astoria from the common room a few times; Greg had been rather obsessed with her. He managed to feign polite interest and avoid answering any questions about his family that she couldn't find out from reading the papers.

The first shop they visited was the florist. They walked through the glass door and a little bell tinkled. There were, predictably, flowers everywhere. They covered tables and chairs, stood in pots on the floor and some even hung from the ceiling. They were mostly white, but there was a small selection of other colours dotted here and there. A coral bunch caught his eye.

Draco let Astoria do most of the talking. She asked about bouquets, arrangements, posies and prices, making the occasional comment to him when something sounded good. Draco tried to look interested, but gave up when the aroma of the flowers started to make him feel light-headed. They left with the promise of returning another time, which Draco privately vowed never to do, and Draco breathed in the fresh air outside with relief.

The photographer's studio was almost the opposite. It was dark and cool, though Astoria wasn't put off from her questions. She asked to see samples of the photographer's work until Draco thought he would hex the next photo he saw of a couple with fixed smiles and awkward poses. Again, she promised to return, to which Draco silently added over my dead body.

Then there were the dress shops, in which Draco and Astoria spent a total of three hours. She tried on numerous dresses, asking his opinion but never seeming to listen to it. Each dress cost a fortune, but Draco didn't like any of them. When Draco tried to suggest this was something she could do better without him, she smiled kindly at him.

“Let's stop for tea, shall we?”

He nodded gratefully, holding the door open for her as they left. He noticed she didn't promise to return this time; maybe she had listened to his opinion after all. They went to a nearby café and after he'd ordered a cup of tea for them both, they took a table against the wall.

“I get the feeling you're not really keen on this,” Astoria said.

She didn't sound angry, or even upset. Two years ago he would have lied and told her he was interested just to please his father. But now pleasing his father didn't seem so important. He looked at her and was impressed that she held his gaze calmly.

“No, I don't think I am. I'm sorry.”

He realised he was fiddling with his cloak fastening and put his hands in his lap. She smiled sadly.

“It's okay. It was very sudden and although I'm disappointed, I'm not surprised.”

“What?”

He couldn't help the question.

“I've read about your part in the war during your trial. Everyone knows your father pushed you into things and I guess there comes a time when you just don't let him any more.”

Draco stared. When had the girl who spent hours discussing flower arrangements turned into this insightful woman who analysed his life.

“What about you?” he asked her. “Do you want this?”

“I want to be married. Start a new life for myself. But I've always hoped that when I marry it will be to someone who loved me.”

She sighed and he was surprised to see her look at his with something near admiration.

“I wish I had your courage, but I can't turn down my parents' choice of a husband.”

She finished her tea and leaned across the table to kiss him on the cheek.

“Thank you for being honest with me.”

Draco smiled at her. His first genuine one of the day. She pulled on her cloak, fastening the silver buttons at the top. Draco thought of Greg.

“Astoria?”

She looked up.

“If you're serious about marrying for love, I happen to know someone who has been pining for you since school.”

Her eyes widened for an instant and, for all her self-control, a blush crept up her cheeks.

\+ + +

Draco Apparated home.

He arrived at the Manor gates and walked around the side of the house. He knew his father would ask how it went and he wanted to delay the inevitable outburst as long as possible. He settled in his usual position under the Sycamore. Even when the Dark Lord was at the Manor, Draco hadn't retreated to it as much as he had these last few weeks. Though he doubted the tree would have been able to keep the Dark Lord out, if he'd ever wanted to find Draco.

He heard footsteps padding over the grass and pulled his torso up, resting on his elbows and forearms.

Harry was in the walled garden. Why on Earth he'd come here was beyond Draco. Harry looked around the whole garden before bringing his gaze back to the Sycamore. Draco frowned; there was no way Harry could see him under here, but he definitely had the air of someone looked for something.

Harry walked under the tree. No Sycamore leaves fell behind him and Harry didn't show the slightest notion of knowing Draco was there. He expected Harry to leave again, but he just stood still. Eventually he walked further under the tree and settled himself against the trunk, three feet from Draco.

He knew Harry couldn't see him. Couldn't hear him, couldn't feel him. But Draco's heart still pounded at the closeness. No-one had ever sat with him under here before, even as unwittingly as Harry was now.

Draco shuffled backwards to lean on the tree next to Harry. Harry's left hand was flat on the ground with his palm facing down. Draco felt his right hand slide along the grass until his little finger was just millimetres from Harry's. Excruciatingly slowly, he edged nearer, not dropping his concentration for a second. He moved his knuckle into Harry's.

It went right through, like a ghost.

Harry's finger twitched but he didn't look up. Draco slid more of his hand over Harry's, until each of their fingers were superimposed onto the other's. It made him feel calm, a small piece of shelter in his turbulent life. His head dropped to one side and his eyes flicked closed.

Eventually Draco woke. Harry was gone and there was a slight drizzle from the thick cloud cover. He felt rested but on edge, like the beginnings of a storm, and he trudged back to his bedroom in the Manor.

When Draco slept, he dreamed of drowning in swirling red and orange Sycamore leaves and being rescued by an invisible stranger on a broomstick.

\+ + +

It took Draco a few minutes to realise why there was such a commotion. At first, he'd thought his father had found out about Astoria, but apparently she'd kept quiet about their conversation. Instead, as his father reminded him gleefully, the day of the Ministry Ball had finally arrived and Lucius would arrive with Harry Potter on his arm.

Draco kept out of the way the whole day. When he tried to go downstairs for lunch, the house-elves had spread the newly-delivered Gladrags robes on the dining table and were being berated by Lucius for taking so long. One of the elves took Draco's small pile of clothes and handed them to him, ushering him away.

At 5 minutes to 6, Draco stood by the fireplace in the drawing room with his father and Harry. They had matching green robes with a glittering silver trim around the bottom and the sleeves. Harry must have used some spell on his hair because it was perfectly in place and brushed back from his face, leaving his scar clearly visible. Draco preferred it when it was messy.

Lucius made Harry go first, then he followed, with Draco last. They were escorted from the Floo network in the Atrium to a room where they could leave their cloaks. After submitting their wands for checking, they were shown to the large double doors that leasdto the Ball.

Lucius strode forward. Small whispers spread among the guests and he spread his arms in front of him and looked at all the expectant faces.

“It gives me great pleasure to present my husband, Harry Potter.”

There was absolute silence as Draco entered. He walked a little behind Harry as wizarding tradition dictated.

“You'd think I'd killed someone, or something,” Harry muttered.

Draco kept his face impassive, but Lucius glanced over and seemed to notice Harry wasn't alone.

“And most of you know my son, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco refused to let the humiliation of being relegated to a mere after-thought show on his face. He held his back straight and lifted his chin. Glancing around the room, he realised he needn't have bothered. All eyes were on Harry. Including his father's.

The room was huge and square. Tables dotted the centre area and in one corner was a stage where a band were setting up their instruments. A small dance floor was directly in front of the stage, although no-one was on it.

Draco didn't get a chance to speak to Harry. Witches and wizards crowded around him, giving congratulations to him and offering honeymoon destinations and gifts that Lucius was quick to accept.

Draco's anger rose with every minute. Harry was smiling and laughing with his father, as if nothing had ever happened between them. As if he hadn't begged Draco to fuck him or quietly admitted that Draco was his first time.

When the band started a few hours later, things went from bad to worse.

Lucius pulled Harry into the dance floor and the gathered wizards and witches seemed to think it would be a nice idea to allow them a private dance.

Lucius' arms were wrapped around Harry's waist and Harry rested his on Lucius' shoulders. They swayed in time to the beat, faces open and smiling. Lucius' fingers slipped lower on Harry's back and Draco couldn't take any more.

He stormed out of the hall, not caring about the loud bang the doors made behind him. He ignored the stunned looks of the cloakroom staff and stalked through a random door into a small office.

He cast spell after spell of destruction in the small room. The desk split and the chair exploded and shredded paper rained down around him.

Harry walked in and they stared at each other across the room and Draco had a fleeting vision of bending Harry over the desk. He banished it at once.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked, concern evident on his face and in his voice.

Draco wanted to tell Harry to leave his father. He repeated the words over and over in his head, gathering momentum to say them aloud. Leave him, leave him, leave him.

“Leave,” he croaked. His throat was too dry for another syllable.

Harry looked startled and Draco came to his senses just in time. He swallowed, ignoring the screaming voice in his head.

“Leave me alone, Harry” he said in a stronger voice.

Harry's hurt was written all over his face, but Draco resisted the over-whelming urge to comfort him. Let Harry believe he meant nothing to Draco if that would finish this mess they were in. Draco couldn't have Harry while he was married to his father and he wouldn't ruin it for him if it was what Harry wanted.

Harry left without a word and Draco sank to his knees. It took him fifteen full minutes to stop crying and control his breathing. He stood up and decided he was not going to rejoin the Ball to watch his father's hands all over Harry. He took the other door out into a cool, dark corridor and walked away from the noise of the people celebrating.

Three corridors later and Draco was lost. He wished he'd paid more attention whenever his father had brought him to the Ministry before. He took another left, then a right and finally spotted what looked like a lift. Not bothering to read the departments, he jabbed the highest number and stood numbly as the lift descended as far as possible.

He wandered down another dark corridor, just as empty as the others. There was just one door at the end and he wearily pushed against it, not caring where he was going. Draco fell into a very different room. This one was circular and had 12 doors around the walls. Mildly interested, he moved to the one nearest his right, hearing his footsteps tap on the polished floor.

The room was large and lamps hung from the ceiling, bathing the room in flickering light. There were glass tanks with objects in them. As Draco got nearer, he saw there were brains in the tanks. He hurried to another door on the wall and, without looking back at the strange swimming brains, he walked through it into darkness.

The room was narrow, very narrow, Draco realised as he lit his wand. It was only a few feet wider than the door on each side and tiled walls stretched as far as his wand light allowed him to see. It was also completely empty.

He cast a stronger light spell, one that was designed to rebound and come back to the caster. He threw the ball of light into the room and waited. It travelled until the light faded from view and Draco reached the conclusion with a shudder; the walls were never-ending.

A loud grinding sound came from his left. He jumped away from the wall with a start and watched, fascinated, as the large, square tiles along the very top of the wall shifted and a new one appeared where the wall started. The noise echoed down the room as the tiles further away moved along, eventually fading to silence once more.

He edged nearer to the wall, until he saw a thick layer of dust covering each tile. He reached up a hand to brush it away, revealing words carved into each tile. He read one of them.

James Delaney, _maker of the bond_  
Julia Gibbs, _keeper of the bond_  
Lawrence Delaney, _subject of the bond_

And he understood with a thumping in his chest. These were the Deathbed Bonds. This was where they were kept. He knew the Ministry had a room of Prophecies, of course they had the same for other magical contracts and spells. Only the subject of a Deathbed Vow can break the Bond. He had to break the bond! Literally, break the tile the bond was written on. It was so simple, he could have laughed.

He broke into a run, desperately scanning for his family's name or even Harry's name. When his lungs began to hurt, he stopped, panting for breath. He looked back and couldn't see the door.

 _“Point!”_ he panted, thinking hard about his mother.

Learning the modification to the usual Point me spell had been one positive side effect of all his research in the library.

For a while nothing happened, then very slowly his wand pointed further down the wall, deeper into the room. He ran again, awkwardly holding his wand in front of him, watching its tip creeping closer to the wall with each customised Point spell. Eventually, the wand lay directly toward the wall and Draco followed it to a shiny, black tile. No dust coated this one.

Four names were written on the stone.

Narcissa Malfoy, _maker of the bond_  
Harry Potter, _keeper of the bond_  
Draco & Lucius Malfoy, _subjects of the bond_

Here it was. The source of all the pain of the last month.

His hand was shaking when he pointed his wand at the tile. He took a few deep breaths and summoned every angry feeling he'd ever had. He thought of his mother's face as she pleaded with his father not to let him take the Mark, he thought of his father's cruel smile when he told Draco to marry, he thought of Astoria resigned to marry someone she didn't love, and strongest of all was Harry. Harry, who Draco wanted more than anything but was forced to watch play husband to his father because of this Vow.

 _“Evascaro!”_

The tile split at the top. The crack spread down, branching out in little white lines, until the whole block shattered and hundreds of tiny pieces fell to the floor. There was the loud grinding as the tiles shifted to cover the newly-made gap, but Draco barely heard it. He stared at the pieces of tile by his feet, but, as he bent down, they disintegrated into dust. Very soon he was left crouched over an empty patch of floor.

He went to push his hair out of his face when he felt dampness on his skin. He was crying. Typical. Even the Dark Lord had only made him cry once, but Harry Potter had reduced him to tears twice in one day.

Draco raced back to the door. The thought of what his father might be doing with Harry right this second spurred him on. The room felt twice the length on the way back, but Draco didn't stop. When he reached the door, he skidded into the brain room and hurled himself back the way he'd come.

In the circular room he paused. Which door was the way out? He opened one experimentally, with the aim of testing them all in turn, but it lead to a room he didn't recognise. Just as he shut it again the walls moved and he was left standing in front of a new one.

He would have yelled in frustration if he'd had the energy. But he slid down the door. There was no way to get out of here.

“I just want to go home,” he whispered to the air.

The room moved again and there was a click as the door opposite opened. Hardly believing his luck, Draco leapt toward it before it could disappear again and threw himself into the corridor beyond. He raced to the lift, pummelled the button for floor 1 and stood panting as the lift crawled tortuously slowly up eight floors.

He ran through the double doors and looked around wildly. There were so many people, he couldn't see his father or Harry. He used another, whispered Point spell thinking of Harry and his wand span so quickly in his hand it burned his palm.

Lucius had his arm around Harry's waist, holding him tightly to his side. Draco ran toward them, forcing his way into the circle of people crowded around them. He knew he must look a mess. Sweat and dust and tears probably streaked his face and his robes were ruined. It was almost worth it for the look of horror on his father's face.

“It's over,” he told them. “The Vow is broken. I destroyed it.”

Lucius was saying something loudly to the group, but Draco wasn't looking at him. Harry just stood still, looking stunned. Draco willed him to understand.

“It's like the Prophecy. There's a room in the Department of Mysteries with Deathbed Vows and if the subject of a Vow breaks one, then the Bond is over. I read it and now I've broken our one. Your one. With my mother.”

“You haven't broken anything, Draco,” Lucius sneered. “He's still here. Harry's still here.”

But Harry's eyes were searching. A wizard to Draco's right stepped forward. Draco recognised him as the one from the hospital room in Harry's memory.

“We can find out for sure, Lucius,” the wizard said calmly. “Accio Vow!”

No-one said anything as they waited. Then a single piece of paper flew into the wizard's outstretched hand and he looked down at two words written at the top of the page. Draco could read them upside down. Bond Broken.

Harry's laughter bounced around the room. His shoulders relaxed and he pushed himself away from Lucius' embrace. Lucius looked furious, but didn't quite dare do anything in front of so many people. A figure came running up to Harry, but Draco kept his eyes at Harry's feet and concentrated on keeping his voice level.

“You're released from my mother's bond, Harry.”

When Harry's feet didn't move, Draco looked up at him.

“Did you hear me?” he asked. “You're free to go.”

He desperately wished Harry would just go. He didn't think he could make it through Harry's grateful smile and sad eyes knowing he'd never see them again. Harry's face swam slightly in front of him and there was a roaring noise growing in his ears.

“I'm not going,” Harry said.

Draco saw the person stood behind Harry was Granger. He knew he must be hallucinating because she seemed to be smiling widely right at him.

“Not without you.”

Draco could have rolled his eyes. Of course Harry would try something like this. The honourable Gryffindor, saving Draco yet again. Without thinking about what would happen next; how he'd be stuck with Draco next week, next month, next year...

“Harry-”

“I don't have a Prophecy for this, Draco. There is no Bond, no magical spell I can use to prove it to you.”

Harry's eyes bore into his, making him feel light-headed.

“There's just me, telling you that somewhere along the line you became important to me. I need you and I'm not leaving without you.”

Draco knew he was standing in the Ministry's decorated hall, he knew there was a large crowd of people watching him and if he turned around, he'd see the big band standing on the stage, but everything was disappearing from him. He was only aware of Harry, staring at him as though his life depended on it.

He tried to take a step forwards but stumbled. He felt strong fingers close around his arm before he blacked out.

\+ + +

When he regained consciousness, he was lying on something soft. He wanted nothing more than to lie here forever. He kept his eyes shut, but he felt something shift next to him.

“Where am I?”

“In my house,” came Harry's calm reply.

“What happened?”

“You fainted.”

There was a barely-suppressed tinge of amusement to Harry's tone and Draco frowned.

“I had just rescued you from being married to my father. You could be a bit more grateful.”

“I'm very grateful.” Draco felt Harry's smile in his words and there was a tingle of excitement in his midsection. “And when you're feeling up to it, I'll show you just how grateful I am.”

There was a pause while Draco contemplated this happily.

“If you want to, that is,” Harry added.

“I'm here, aren't I?”

“Yes, but you're here because I brought you here.”

“I meant I'm still here. I could have left any time I wanted.”

There was a pause as they both carefully ignored this obvious lie.

“Will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Will you leave?”

Draco waited a few moments as revenge for Harry's obvious enjoyment at him fainting.

“No.”

Soft hair tickled his nose as Harry pressed his mouth against Draco's. Draco wanted nothing more than to give in to the kiss, to spend the day with Harry in his bed. There was no rush to find out what Harry's house looked like. Or even what the room he was in looked like. But he needed to say it.

“Harry,” he began, eyes still shut.

Harry waited.

“What you said before, at the Ministry.”

“Mm.”

“I wanted to say, you know...” he trailed off, immensely glad his eyes were closed and he didn't have to see Harry's face as he struggled with the words. He'd never been very good at this, even when his mother was alive. “I, well... the same.”

As Harry's mouth found his again, more firmly this time, Draco reflected that maybe having Harry Potter in his life wasn't such a bad thing after all.


End file.
